Thranduilion
by Milliecake
Summary: A set of tales following the life of Legolas Greenleaf, from early birth, to his first adventure, through to the War of the Ring.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Thranduilion  
  
Author: Milliecake  
  
Category: General, Angst, Adventure  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Summary: A set of tales following the life of Legolas Greenleaf, from early birth, to his first adventure, through to the War of the Ring.  
  
Disclaimer: Characters contained within this fic belong to Tolkien.  
  
Author's Notes: A mixture of both movie verse and book, this could not have been written without the most excellent essay Legolas of Mirkwood: Prince Among Equals by Ellen Brundige, which intrigued me enough to write this tale.  
  
******  
  
Chapter One – Thranduilion  
  
Eryn Galen, Third Age 2321...  
  
The light of the dying day passed quickly into gloom and it seemed the last of the leaves had fallen for the year, though the trees appeared incongruously heavy and bent with their loss. A sharp and bitter wind cut serpentine through the autumnal wood, bearing on frost-tinged air the melancholy sound of Elvish lament.  
  
In haste the company from Imladris had set out, yet now they slowed their beasts, confusion and despair written upon many a fair Elven face as hope abandoned them at last. Astride his steed, Elrond bowed his head, the song of grief that travailed so hauntingly through the stark and empty woodland burdening him with a bitter knowledge of what had come to pass. Too late, he grieved, and glanced to the telling boughs above. Even the trees mourn...  
  
"Hir nin?" he heard Erestor, his trusted advisor query softly, reminding Imladris' Lord they had not the luxury of time to dwell upon heartache.  
  
"We must go on." Elrond spoke purposefully, rallying his company's faltering spirits. "My skills may yet be in need, for were not there two involved in this unhappy business?"  
  
With that he spurred his horse onwards once more, determined to lose no more time. If the passing of one was sorrowful, to lose both would be doubly grievous and he prayed the grace of the Valar would not allow such a tragedy to come to pass.  
  
So it was with a swiftness their company descended upon a funereal scene in a clearing open to the stars, the light of Earendil fading as the adventurer of the heavens sailed further into the darkness beyond the world. Here the beeches seemed less touched by the season than many, here where even one not of Silvan blood could hope to find joy and rest and merriment amongst the trees.  
  
But now the air was subdued and sorrowful, the woodland elves who would oft rejoice so readily in the twilight beneath bough and leaf, distraught in their grief. Dismounting, Elrond searched their faces, seeing a sharp and keening distress as they openly wept their sorrows, yet little of the confusion and despairing wonderment that assailed his own people.  
  
Long has death been an ever constant shadow, Elrond thought, here where the Enemy made his stronghold. Here where there is no Ring of Power to protect them.  
  
The weight of Vilya, the Ring of Sapphire, had never seemed so great a burden though it lay many leagues over meadow and mountain, safely ensconced in the valley Men called Rivendell. Elrond knew with keen foresight that were it not for the gift of Gil-galad, his father's light would shine less brightly upon his home and Imladris too would be lost to the shadow that even now plagued their woodland kin.  
  
Making his way through the shrouded gathering, Erestor at his side, Elrond heard the Captain's breathy 'Ai Elbereth!' and had at last his fears confirmed. They had laid their queen upon a bed of living wood and there was a wreath around her dark brow, woven from the late seasoning wild flowers that grew at the foot of the Mountains South of the King's hall. But not even Melian herself could have healed a body so grievously sundered of its fea, for it was clear the spirit had left some time during the bright day for the Halls of Mandos.  
  
Silent at her side stood her husband, the fair and prideful Sindarin King of Eryn Galen. Twice now had Elrond born witness to Thranduil's grief, the first after his father and King had been unneedfully slain before the Black Gates of Mordor. Yet Oropher had not been alone in his demise that day and many were lost ere the Dark Lord's fall, foremost among them the mighty High King Gil-galad and the Numenorean exile Elendil, to whom Elrond could claim a measure of kinship.  
  
But Oropher's son had not been assuaged by the loss of others and had led barely a third of his people back to their woodland realm with little but acrimony and a deep seated mistrust for all those who had fought in the Last Alliance. So their Silvan kindred had withdrawn, guided by their intransigent Sindarin King, closed their hearts to become hidden, isolated, rousing only to defend their borders and neither Imladris nor Lothlorien had been welcome or wanted within Thranduil's harried realm.  
  
When at last the twice bereft King's gaze turned to Elrond, it was written with a dark and terrible anguish that was no less painful to behold for having witnessed it afore. "Late in the hour of our plight do you come, Elrond Peredhel," Thranduil spoke, with bitterness and recrimination, to his travel wearied guests.  
  
At his side, Elrond felt Erestor bristle at the unjust accusation but placed his hand upon his trusted advisor's shoulder to counsel silence. Thranduil spoke out in grief, the words born of a frustrated rage that would seek any target, innocent or no, to quench its fire in another's blame.  
  
But there was no fault to be laid at Imladris' feet. Late had they received the call for aid and its Lord had departed with all haste, pushing both Elf and beast close to their endurance in the charge over the Misty Mountains to the dark woods of the east. Had the mighty Elf Lord Glorfindel ridden with them they could not have travelled swifter. Yet in the end it had all been for naught. Had they arrived but a day sooner, had the King heeded his own healers and assented more quickly to request help from their estranged kin in the west...  
  
Your pride, King Thranduil, is the more likely cause of this tragedy, Elrond thought, sourly, but knew his unkind reproach for a thwarted Healer's frustration.  
  
"Where is her babe, Thranduil?" he demanded instead, seeing the signs upon the body that she had indeed birthed the child.  
  
When the King did not respond to his plea, Elrond felt a glimmer of true fear and despair. Nay, do not let this be so, do not let both mother and child perish.  
  
At last the King spoke, carelessly as if of a matter of no import. "You may find him with the ellith of my Hall."  
  
Shocked though his expression did not reveal it, Elrond wondered how deep the King's grief ran that he might abandon a newly delivered elfling , knowing naught of its welfare. In the twilight of their time upon Middle Earth, an elven child was regarded as a wondrous gift to the dwindling Firstborn, ethereal creatures to be tirelessly, jealousy guarded from harm, more precious than the greatest of all Arda's treasures. Yet for Thranduil to hold this bounty with such light regard...  
  
Seeing he would gain nothing more from the grieving Eldar, Elrond turned towards Eryn Galen's fabled stronghold, dug Dwarf deep into the mountainside that it might provide a refuge against such foul creatures that lurked still in the great wood. For though the istar Mithrandir had purged much of the South of the scourge of Sauron, the Dark Lord's evil had taken root in the forest and the children of Ungolient were ever watchful, ever spinning their deadly webs to ensnare unwitting Edhil.  
  
It was such a hideous beast that had felled the pregnant queen, Elrond learned at last. While his company sought out much needed respite and refreshment from their travel, Elrond closely questioned the healers of Thranduil's hall as they led him to their infant prince. Close to her term, the Queen had taken to gentle walks to ease her discomfort and had whiled away the time lost in contemplation and joy of her impending labour. A true Silvan daughter, she had favoured the twilight hours the most, wandering beneath star and moon and such was her distraction that she had unthinkingly strayed from the elven path, away from her protectors.  
  
The attack had been as unnaturally unpredictable as it had been swift. No spider had ever dared draw so close to the Elven realm since their dark master had fled Dol Guldur. Yet one creature had been so bold. Escaping sentries and patrols alike, it had skirted their more closely guarded paths and plunged recklessly deep into Elven territory. To those who had born witness to the horrifying attack, the creature had appeared driven, lethally deranged, striking the helpless Queen when flight would have secured its loathsome life, frenziedly seeking to pierce her tender flesh with poisonous fangs time and again as Elven arrows punctured its venomous sack. Even after the Queen's protectors had hewn its myriad legs from beneath it, as its foul and stinking guts had been spilled on the forest floor, still it strove for the fallen rin.  
  
"It was her choice," Berilan the King's chief healer said at last, voice weary with sorrow and failure, as they came to stand outside the royal nursery. "To birth early afore the poison spread to her child. The resulting weakness allowed the venom to take hold of her. There was naught we could do..."  
  
Of a sudden, the healer's breath caught and he covered his eyes with a hand, unable to continue with his tale of tragedy. Empathy surged through Imladris' Lord and Elrond regarded Berilan with naught but sympathy, placing his hand upon the healer's trembling arm as he spoke.  
  
"Do not grieve yourself," he said kindly, "for this was beyond your skill. Take comfort in the life of the child and find peace that the Valar have granted us this much at least."  
  
When Berilan at last took his leave, Elrond entered the nursery and there sought out the babe that had been birthed ere the death of its mother. He found him, as the King had promised, with the elf-maidens of the Hall. Sombre was their mood, bereft of their fair queen, yet though there was no laughter or joy, neither were there songs of grief here, mindful of the infant they tended.  
  
Shedding his cloak, Elrond meticulously washed away the dust he had accrued on his journey though he longed swiftly to allay his anxieties over the child's wellbeing and set his heart at ease. When at last he was fit to receive the infant, he lifted the tiny bundle with tender consideration, infinitely gentle as he pulled away the silken swaddling to observe within the latest, and maphap the last, jewel of Eryn Galen.  
  
Dark of hair and eye were the ellith present, as were all their Silvan kin, but the child was blue of eye and fair of hair, much like his Sindarin father and King in his regard. A striking elf he would become and not only among his woodland brethren, for there were few of his like left upon Middle Earth and even fewer now who dwelt within the Greenwood. Small too, even for a newly delivered elfling and Elrond judged he would never attain the full height and girth of his father, no doubt the result of his premature birthing.  
  
At the disturbance of his cosy cocoon, the elfling roused, blinking drowsily up at the strange Edhel who held him.  
  
"Mae govannen, Thranduilion," Elrond greeted him softly with a warm smile, all at once enchanted. It had been a millennia and more since his own children had been so small, so helpless, eagerly receiving the care that their adar was wont to lavish upon them.  
  
The infant's sapphire eyes were piercing and tracked Elrond with the gaze of the hunter he would one day become, even as a tiny, stubborn hand found purchase in one of the Loremaster's braids. It would not loosen easily and the Elf Lord could not help but laugh aloud, surprising the subdued ellith.  
  
"You will be a strong one, ernil nin," Elrond promised him, tracing one delicate, petal shaped ear, relieved the child bore no signs of distress or an unnatural lethargy. In a mortal child, an early birth would have been cause for concern, but even within the smallest of Edhel the immortal blood of the Firstborn powerfully flowed.  
  
Gently untangling the child's clinging fingers, Elrond sang a lullaby his wife Celebrian had oft sung to their own and, soothed, the infant soon fell back into a dreamless slumber. The journey to Eryn Galen had proved to be in vain, yet not wholly fruitless. Elrond would not deny his heart was gladdened by the elfling's well-being and some joy after all would come out of the King's sorrow.  
  
It was then a thought occurred to him and he turned to the maidens. "What name has the King bestowed upon his child that I might take back with me to Imladris, for the birth of an Elven prince will be of great cheer to all our people?"  
  
At their sorrowful looks and shaking heads, Elrond's unease rose anew and he judged his healer's duty not yet fulfilled.  
  
END OF CHAPTER ONE  
  
Elvish Translations:  
  
Hir nin – My Lord  
  
Fea - Spirit  
  
Peredhel – Half Elven  
  
Mae govannen, Thranduilion – Well met, son of Thranduil  
  
Ernil nin – My prince 


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Thranduilion

Author: Milliecake

Category: General, Angst, Adventure

Rating: PG

Summary: A set of tales following the life of Legolas Greenleaf, from early birth to his first adventure, through to the War of the Ring.

Disclaimer: Characters contained within this fic belong to Tolkien. 

Author's Notes: Just a quick note regarding my choice of Eryn Galen rather than Eryn Lasgalen as some reviewers have kindly pointed out. Eryn Galen, to my knowledge, translates simple as Greenwood, which was how Thranduil's realm was known before it became Mirkwood midway through the Third Age. After the War of the Ring and the razing of Dol Guldur, Thranduil and Celeborn renamed it Wood of Greenleaves, which would be Eryn Lasgalen. Having said all that, I'm sure there are readers out there who have read the books more recently and assiduously than myself and can shed some light on this.

******

Chapter Two – _Measures of Wealth_

Eryn Galen, Third Age 2321…

By morn a black and fetid cloud had settled over the Greenwood, bringing with it a miserable drizzle that further dampened the spirits of the Imladris contingent as they wandered beneath the stark and dripping canopy. So unlike gentle, tamed Rivendell, Eryn Galen no longer came to mind as an earthy but ultimately merry place, full of wine and song, but more a primitive, perilous and odious abode their fair Silvan kindred were forced to endure.

The wood elves, however, made little of the foul weather, seemingly at ease among the steaming, dank forest as they moved purposefully about, making grim preparation for the waging of a war. A chance remark fell upon Erestor's sharp ears and he made haste to inform his Lord.

"He has bidden his army ride South," he said, as Elrond awaited a final audience with the King. "Every known spider nest from here to the Old Forest Road has already been put to the torch yet I believe the King means to eradicate their entire existence from Middle Earth."

Elrond sighed, somewhat regretfully. "Thranduil intends to exact a hefty price for the slaying of his queen. Long have these abhorrent creatures plagued this land unchecked and not only our woodland brethren, for the woodsmen who have settled East of the Anduin have not the strength and fleetness of the Elves to ward against such a malignancy." He laced his hands behind his back, a frown marring his wise, Elven countenance. "Yet I fear Erestor, for should Thranduil's heart turn wholly to revenge what will be wrought for his people? This mighty labour, to purge Eryn Galen, cannot succeed in any certitude for as one nest falls, two shall spring forth. Mayhap while Dol Guldur remains silent and empty twill be enough only to curb the arachnids. 

"But should the Enemy return there to find Thranduil weak, exhausted, consumed by his hatred and grief…"

The thought that had proved so elusive came at last, unbidden, to Elrond's mind, a dark and fearful doom for the Greenwood; a fallen King; a hunted people; all lands East of the Anduin consumed by a black and seething malice risen anew…

"This must not come to pass," Elrond hissed, pressing long fingers to his forehead as if to rid himself of the fell vision. And yet it lingered on, phantom tendrils of foresight refusing to relinquish a dispassionate grip, arrowing with ruthless surety on a dark and ruinous fate for their Silvan kindred.

The Lord of Imladris could feel Erestor's questioning eyes upon him and he sighed, suddenly wearied for the task ahead. "I had intended to petition Thranduil for the guardianship of his child," he said at length.

"To what purpose?" Erestor queried, surprised.

"I fear for the babe," Elrond admitted bluntly. "I have yet to see the King's regard for his son, his heir, and I had hoped that by fostering the child within Imladris he would come to know some measure of tenderness. Yet should I be granted this much, I see a doom for Eryn Galen, full of naught but darkness and despair. He is their hope, this child, this elfling, I can feel it! And I am truly torn."

"If such evil is fated to befall this realm," the Captain began, carefully, "then you cannot think to deprive those who must remain of their salvation."

"Yet how in good conscience can I even conceive of leaving this child to the cold rebuff of his grieving father, knowing the happiness that awaits him within my own household? You have not seen this elfling, this _Thranduilion_, but he has a bright flame, one I would not see quenched by another's despair. Ai Erestor, I need your council."

"Nay," his friend countered. "You know as well as I what you must do. Seek out the King, learn his regard for his son."

"And if I find it wanting?"

At this Erestor did not reply and they awaited admittance to the King's chamber in a grim and foreboding silence.

*****

The shard of light glinted sharply, sheared off from a polished surface, dazzling and bright.

"How wondrous it is, that it does not tarnish, will not fade though aeons may pass as but a day."

Elrond stood stiffly before the throne of the woodland King as these words were recited with a deliberate air. Thranduil held aloft the bright gem, twisting it this way and that to catch the fickle torch light of his hall, avarice to match even the greediest of the stunted beings within his bearing.

"Where in all of Arda can we find such perfection?" Thranduil lowered the gem, placed it to one side before turning his full regard upon Imladris' Lord.

He was awaiting an answer, Elrond knew and he considered the Sindarin King before carefully replying. "There is a treasure far more precious, that even now lies within your walls. A living, breathing jewel of greater import than any mere dwarf-coveted bauble." He took a bold step forward. "I speak of your son, Thranduil, the child your queen sacrificed her time upon Arda for!"

The King flinched slightly at the last, then narrowed his stare upon the Elf Lord before him. "I need you not to catalogue my Kingdom's wealth, _peredhel_, for if you do so, you must weigh the cost of my queen's immolation against that which I have gained." The King drew his wooden staff into his lap and gazed balefully at Elrond. "I have done so and found the scales tipped against me."

"How can you say such?" Elrond protested, incredulous. "You have an heir, King of Eryn Galen and a greater gift from the Valar I cannot conceive…"

"A gift?" Thranduil demanded, his fingers whitening upon his staff. "The Valar take with one hand while offering a pittance in return and think you that I should be _grateful_?"

Elrond felt his outrage grow at the King's unyielding intransigence, a scathing chastisement upon his lips and things may have gone sour for relations between Imladris and Greenwood were it not for the timely knock upon the great oak doors.

The harsh criticisms Elrond had been prepared to let fly died ere they were ever birthed as Erestor was permitted entrance, stepping aside to allow a fair elleth to enter the hall. She cradled to her breast the very creature of the Elven Lords' contention, though the babe was deep in slumber and oblivious to the razor sharp anger that scythed the very air between the two mighty Edhil.

"What is this?" Thranduil demanded, coldly, face darkening with displeasure. "I have made it known I did not desire such an introduction. Does my court dare to conspire with Imladris and set itself against my will?"

Seeing the Elf maid trembling in sudden doubt and fear at the levelling of such treasonous charges, Elrond reached out to relieve her of her gentle burden, silently bidding Erestor to take their leave lest they unwittingly bring down the full weight of the King's foul mood upon their blameless heads. The she-elf spared one last, doubtful glance to her sleeping charge, before allowing Rivendell's gallant Captain to guide her from the hall and from under the eye of its resentful ruler.

When once more the hall of the Wood King was emptied, Elrond approached the throne without hesitation though the steely eyes of its recalcitrant occupant were fixed fumingly upon him. Let Thranduil accuse Imladris of meddlesome acts, but Elrond would learn the King's regard for his son afore he even contemplated leaving the Greenwood empty-handed. He lifted the swaddling to reveal the sleeping infant within to its father and King, watching Thranduil's countenance change haltingly from chagrin to some measure of interest.

"He is fair," the King allowed at last, and though his voice was cool, Elrond saw a flicker in the ancient eyes, fuelling his hope.

"He takes much from his Lord father," the Loremaster said, and watched as Thranduil's already abundant pride swelled ever more at the unexpected praise from Imladris' ruler. _Though let us pray to the Valar the child bears his naneth's sweet temper_, Elrond added ruefully, _rather than his adar's bearish disposition._

A time passed as Thranduil regarded the child cradled within Elrond's tireless arms, the torchlight diminishing as untended wicks at last burned low, though but a little time did it seem to the ageless Elf Lords, whose immortal souls had felt the passage of countless millennia. Yet gradually, Elrond began to sense a change within the other, the impenetrable wall of grief beginning to crack as surely as the rock must upon whom the unending sea eventually breaks.

And at last, the King reached out to brush the babe's sleep flushed cheek with a touch so light as to be gossamer. Though gentle beyond measure, the impromptu and unexpected caress disturbed the elfling and a tiny, scrunched face was turned to the meaning of its rude rousing.

It was then that Thranduil at last beheld his son, eyes as blue as a cloudless, midsummer sky regarding the world without with a beguiling innocence and wonder his own had not held for untold years. For the sorrow and strife the High Elves had suffered throughout the ages had long ago dimmed what lightness the Elven King once knew within his heart. And though with the loss of his Queen that grief and despair had arisen anew to batter his already wearied _fea_, Elrond could sense that cruel darkness within the King waver and wane, fleeing before the bright flame of the child's pure, untouched spirit.

"_Mae govannen penneth_," Thranduil whispered, proud voice brought low by awe. Then, "_Ion nin_."

Carefully, Elrond lowered his burden into the welcoming and abruptly possessive arms of its wondering adar and could not help the joy that surged through his heart at witnessing the tender display. His healing gift sensed the sealing of the rift between Thranduil and _Thranduilion _so keenly that he cast further doubt aside and decided it was time to retreat from the hall to allow the new and tentative bond to flourish in privacy.

As the Lord of Imladris slipped silently and unmarked from the hall, one final glance allowed him to behold the true measure of Thranduil's wealth; a tiny elf hand had curled greedily around its adar's powerful finger, holding on with a stubbornness to match even the fabled obstinacy of its Lord King. But it was the silver tears of joy and grieving that at last coursed silently from proud, fair Thranduil that gave Elrond hope.

He turned then, lest he intrude, and quietly but firmly closed the doors as he departed.

*****

END OF CHAPTER TWO


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Thranduilion

Author: Milliecake

Category: General, Angst, Adventure

Rating: PG

Summary: A set of tales following the life of Legolas Greenleaf, from early birth to his first adventure, through to the War of the Ring.

Disclaimer: Characters contained within this fic belong to Tolkien. 

Author's Notes: This is the final chapter chronicling the birth of Legolas. Thank you to all who read and enjoyed. Coming soon: The beginning of the end for the Watchful Peace.

*****

Chapter Three – _Greenleaf_

Eryn Galen, Third Age 2321…

Dawn brought new promise and though the air was chill from the bitter autumnal wind and the sky a pale, wrung grey, a sense of peace had at last settled over the Greenwood, a far cry from the seething, unspent rage of earlier days.

Elrond stood amongst his people, their beasts readied for the long return journey over river and range to the safe haven of Imladris in the West. And though Thranduil had bade them remain as his guests a while longer and take their fill of Silvan hospitality, the travellers from Rivendell were already yearning for the more gentle and familiar comforts of their homeland.

"The healing has begun, for Oropher's son and his people," Elrond spoke they awaited the Woodland King beneath the frost laden boughs of Eryn Galen.

"It is a near tangible thing," Erestor agreed, glancing about the fair glade, lit by a cold morning sun. "Even the trees seem the lighter for it."

"That is not to be wondered at. Ever have the Edhil of Eryn Galen been closer to the nature of Arda than any that now dwell within Middle Earth and they hold a deep affinity with these trees that is beyond even our reckoning."

"Their love binds them here, to this place," Erestor said, and with not a little sorrow. "Even should this realm fall into strife and the light of Valinor beckon, they would remain until the very last."

"But they have hope now," Elrond countered and gestured as the King of Eryn Galen approached, the fluttering banners of the Greenwood held aloft by a solemn entourage.

To the Loremaster's surprise, proud Thranduil bore within his own arms his son, dotingly and devotedly wrapped from the biting breeze and coveted with all the paternal might of the ancient Elf Lord.

"_Hantanyel herunya_," Thranduil greeted Elrond, with utmost formality and graciously inclined his head to Rivendell's Lord. "For the service you have rendered me and mine, I would grant Imladris a boon of the Woodland Realm. Speak only of it and it shall be done."

A mighty gift, Elrond knew, and not one to be lightly nor idly given. Thranduil boasted a vast army, and though his host was poorly equipped compared to those of Imladris and Lorien, the wood elves were fearless and fiercely skilled. A stationed garrison would make safe the passes over the Misty Mountains that separated Rivendell from his beloved wife's people and indeed the range they had so recently crossed.

Or there was the fabled hoard of treasure, large enough for a dragon's covetous gaze and though it was rumoured but a fledgling compared to the vaults of the Elven Kings of old, at its core lay mithril in abundance. A supple metal of incomparable strength, that could be shaped into armour and weaponry of the finest calibre.

Yet neither possibilities held what was most dear and close to Elrond's heart. There was a truth he longed to learn, ere he left Eryn Galen.

"There is but one gift I would ask of you, Thranduil King," he said, gravely, "ere I depart. One that will set my heart to ease and allow our people some measure of joy upon our return to Imladris." He smiled then and gently placed his hand upon the brow of the babe Thranduil held. "A name I would ask of you, son of Oropher. A name to take back with me so that my peoples' hearts may too be gladdened by such joyous news of this prince's birth."

Thranduil considered the humbling request with something akin to wonder. "Much wealth have I, _Earendilion_, yet this instead you ask of me, though I would freely give it." He looked down with quiet reverence upon his son. "A name you shall have then, _Hir nin_. One fitting for this new sprung bud upon our aged bough, a leaf of green."

__

Calenlass, Elrond thought then.

"_Legolas_," Thranduil intoned instead, much to his surprise. Seeing the Loremaster's silent query, the King elaborated, "A fitting name you asked of me. The blood of our Silvan kindred flows strong in his veins, a gift of my wife queen. I would honour her thusly."

"Legolas," Elrond said, and an echo of the foresight that had so recently troubled his heart returned, though this time there was no burden, only a gladness that was in turns bitter and sweet. "The name Evenstar was bestowed upon my daughter Arwen. Undomiel she is called, for it is in the twilight of our years that she now walks amongst us. Yet now I believe this child is truly the last to be born to Middle Earth. The last, green leaf of Elven kind."

"Our time draws near," Thranduil agreed, somewhat sorrowfully. "My heart is divided and ever since the ancient days does the sea beckon to me, though I shall not hearken to its call and forsake my people until the very last. Yet neither would I see my son bound to this land, confined by heritage to weather the darkness should I fall.

"A prince he shall be in name, yet neither duty not title shall compel him to remain if the Enemy rises anew. Only love shall hold sway and bind him to this land if he so wishes."

At this Elrond could not help but feel some measure of dismay. Ever had a mighty Sinda led the peoples of Eryn Galen to stand fast against the Shadow. And though their Silvan kin were neither lacking in courage nor strength, they were content to dwell in bright gaiety beneath star and moon, seldom to turn their thoughts to war or peril from without. Bereft of Sindarin born wisdom should proud Thranduil fall, they would be condemned to darkness, consumed by the minions of an Enemy who would not stay his hand or his cruelty upon learning of their innocent ways. Indeed, it was more likely his black malice would fall all the swifter for it!

As if sensing his misgivings, the King's grave countenance softened somewhat. "Do not fear over much, _Hir nin_, for though my heart ever warns me the Shadow was not vanquished upon that black day when my father King was lost, the time has not yet come for His return.

"For the gift of my son I have given you a name. But for hearkening me to the peril of my grief and folly, I have yet to give thanks. I would therefore give you this pledge." Then Thranduil lifted his voice so that those gathered would bear witness to his proclamation. "Ever have the peoples of the Woodland realm stood against the Shadow though the cost weighs in the blood of our kin. Yet we shall continue to maintain the Watchful Peace and the peoples of Middle Earth will not remain at unawares should the festering scourge of the Enemy once more pollute this land. Neither will we be found weak nor wanting in courage to defend our realm from His foul creatures be they orc, goblin or arachnid. 

"And should my life become forfeit, I would command my people to hearken to the wisdom of Imladris lest they close their hearts to peril and succumb in turn."

There was a ripple of some amazement at the last, not least from the Woodland folk themselves whose gazes now turned to those of their equally surprised Imladris brethren. Erestor bowed low to the King in deference of the unexpected vow to yield the might of the Greenwood into their hands should Mandos Halls unequivocally beckon him.

But, ever shrewd, Elrond was not so enthralled by Thranduil's oath. A double-edged sword it would be to guard the Greenwood from a black fate and not from their common Enemy alone. For Oropher had ever doubted Galadriel and her motives, indeed suspected the White Lady of Lorien might one day attempt to claim Eryn Galen for her own, for in his eyes one culpable of kin slaying would not stay her hand in fear of committing the same foul act twice should it gain her a Kingdom.

In consigning the defence of the Greenwood to Elrond, Thranduil as his father's son would not only gift his people with the power of Vilya to ward against the ancient Enemy, but also place the realm far from the reach of Nenya's fair bearer and her doubtful Noldorin ambitions.

Inwardly Elrond sighed, but in truth he could not gainsay Thranduil's desire to guard his child's future. And when the babe beneath his hand stirred at the last, tiny jewel like eyes blinking into awareness, much of his ire at the King's machinations fell away. He could not prevent his smile as one finger was instantly taken captive, no doubt intending to be ransomed and released only upon the elfling's fickle terms.

But the morn was waning and the horses becoming impatient, so it was with some reluctance that Elrond resorted to underhand tactics to win his freedom. With his other hand, he traced the shell of one delicate, petal-shaped ear and the babe gurgled at the gentle teasing and instantly released the Elf Lord's finger from his possessive grasp, a look of something akin to outrage on his diminutive features upon discovering the loss of his prize.

At this Thranduil fairly shook with mirth, shaking his head in wonder. Indulgent smiles had broken out on all who looked on, entranced by the tiny babe and Elrond could not help but feel a measure of regret that Imladris would never again know the joy of elf children running amok down airy hallways and open courtyards. Yet the mischievous, unrelenting curiosity of the human children he fostered would more than fill Imladris' days with the alternating love and worry that came with caring for the impetuous, fearless young.

"_Nai i Valar nauvar as elyë_," Elrond said formally, to soothe the babe's nettled pride, hoping that the strife that plagued the Woodland Elves would never mar such a fiery spirit. And "_Namarie, Herunya_," to the child's father and King.

"_Nai Anar caluva tielyanna,_" Thranduil replied, lifting one hand in farewell and the Imladris Elves swiftly mounted their beasts.

As Elrond wheeled his feisty mount and led his people from the clearing, fair Elven voices were raised in beauteous song, yet no longer was there sorrow bound within the sweet music. Upon hearing the joyful sound the riders of Imladris found the weariness of past days lifted from both body and mind, their spirits unburdened and light as the breeze as they passed through the wintry land toward home.

END OF CHAPTER THREE

Quenya Translations (to the best of my knowledge and research):

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Hantanyel herunya – Thank you my Lord

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Nai i Valar nauvar as elyë,_– _May the Valar protect you

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Namarie, Herunya – Farewell, my Lord

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Nai Anar caluva tielyanna – May the sun shine on your path

If you're looking for similar translations, try the excellent www.councilofelrond.com.


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